


The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag [Continued]

by OneWhoTurns



Series: The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Abbey of the Everyman, Blasphemy, Dark Romance, Discipline, Drugged Character, Drugging, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Forced Orgasm, Hedonism, Heresy, Kink, Lectures, Magic, Masturbation, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Promiscuity, Reading Aloud, Religious Discussion, Restraint, Romance, Seduction, Self-Denial, Sequel, Smut, Teasing, The Void, Touching, Treason, Voyeurism, both of those things, emsider, promiscuous emily, quoting strictures, recitation, semi-dark outsider, stricture kink, the rhyme of the rosewater hag, the seven strictures, trickster Outsider, unapologetic smut, visits to the void, void magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoTurns/pseuds/OneWhoTurns
Summary: Emily heeded his warning....To some extent.(This work is an immediate follow-up to The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag and just gets more self-indulgent and smutty)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iron Moon (Erebia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erebia/gifts).



> Honestly I had no idea what to title this. As with the last part of this story, it kinda dragged me along with it. This sequel will likely go a bit dark, and have _strong_ heresy/blasphemy themes cause - dammit - this game gave me a stricture kink, and I'm weak. Expect another 3-? part ficlet (looks like minimum 4), this time with even more smut. It's not _quite_ PWP, but it's damn close.

Emily heeded his warning.

...To some extent.

She certainly minded her oaths.

At first she censored herself, banishing the name of the Outsider from her vocabulary, finding herself invoking strictures instead. Curses she’d previously speak herself in the right bawdy conversation suddenly made her think _very_ different things whenever a friend muttered them, and she even was brought to blush once or twice. Her nights became a test of how still she might remain before sleep.

The days of the fugue feast were spent in absolute agony: alone, the tower in lockdown, her usual suitors excused to go break any promises they’d made (though she didn’t trade much in promises with her consorts). She’d tried to sleep through it, to devote herself to work, but she was one of only a handful of people in Dunwall who even attempted to do such a thing. The sound of revelry drifted through her windows at all hours for _three straight days_ \- one of the longest feasts they’d had in years _._

By the end she was feverish, desperate, touch-starved and nearly mad with frustration.

Fifteen minutes to midnight, as the hymn of atonement rang out throughout the city, she stepped from her third under-heated shower of the day straight into her waiting bathrobe, her muscles not at all soothed by the cool water. Fingers flexing and twitching anxiously, she grabbed for her last resort.

Sliding under the covers, she placed the book on her pillow and leafed to the chapter she wanted.

She spoke the words under her breath, so she might hear them over whatever blasphemous thoughts chose to plague her.

“ _Restrict the Wandering Gaze that looks hither and yonder for some flashing thing that easily catches a man's fancy in one moment, but brings calamity in the next. For the eyes are never tired of seeing, nor are they quick to spot illusion. A man whose gaze is corrupted is like a warped mirror that has traded beauty for ugliness and ugliness for beauty. Instead, fix your eyes to what is edifying and to what is pure, and then you will be able to recognize the profane monuments--_ ”

She choked on her words, cleared her throat, and hurriedly moved on.

_"Restrict the lying tongue that-_ ” She stuttered, skin tingling at the words, but soldiered on. “ _-that is like a spark in a man's mouth. It is such a little thing, yet from one spark an entire city may burn to the ground. The father of a lie will suffer a punishment compounded by each person relayed it. Better to live a life of silence than unleash a stream of untruth. The echoes of lies come back as--_ ”

A distressed whine breached her lips, and she leaned her head back. _Why_. Why had she thought this would _help_?

_Piety. Piety and grace and chastity and-_

She shook her head, pressing it into the mattress as she groaned her frustration. _Seven bloody strictures._ Snapping her head up with an irritated determination, she forged on.

“ _Restrict the Restless Hands, which--_ ”

Teeth sunk into her lip and she thrashed onto her back, fingers digging into the sheets as her back arched. One week. She couldn’t even make it _one week_? What was _wrong_ with her? By the-- By the Void. He was right. She was insatiable.

“Ou-” She stopped herself from cursing, and instead growled her fury. Grabbing a pillow, she stifled her frustrated scream, then slammed it down beside her again. She glared at the ceiling.

_I hope your life is torment. I hope you burn every second of your existence. I hope you suffer like I suffer - and worse._

Gritting her teeth, she snatched the book up and clutched it in a vice grip as she read louder. “ _Put your hands to the plow, the fork, and the spade. For even the lowliest labor that is rigorous squeezes the muscles as a sponge, rinsing impurities from the mind and body.”_

_“Restrict_ **_roving feet_ ** _that love to trespass. They pay no heed to the boundary stones of other men's fields. They wander into foreign lands, only to return with their soles blackened by iniquity. Where have you strayed that destruction now comes behind you? Would you walk across burning coals or broken glass? Then why do you prowl into the homes of the honest, or into the dens of hidden things, for the result is the same. You will fall into the Void! Instead, rest your feet on a firm foundation so that when the winds of-_ ” She clenched her jaw, and continued, practically spitting his name, “ _-the Outsider shriek against you, you will stand firm and not be overthrown.”_

_“Restrict the_ **_Rampant Hunger_ ** _or the intemperate will rise up among you like a virulent swarm, devouring everything wherever they go, even filth. For what goes into your body, poisons you, and if you eat filth then filth is what you will vomit up. Surely the glutton will sell away birthright, family, and friends for a morsel of meat.”_

_“Restrict the-_ ” She didn’t even try with the sixth stricture, her words raising in pitch, a nearly hysterical babble. “ _Restrict an_ **_errant mind_ ** _before it becomes fractious and divided can two enemies occupy the same body no for the first will direct it one way and the second another until they stumble into a ditch and its neck is broken likewise two contrary thoughts cannot long abide in a man's mind or he-- he will-- become weak-willed-_ ” She slowed, faltered, and the book fell to her side as she closed her eyes, feeling the prickle of frustrated tears. The last words were a desolate moan, a whispered cry, pleading, guilty, utterly lost. “... _and subject to any heresy._ ”

_That_ had been her fugue feast.

 

* * *

 

Ironically, it was only after the days of debauchery and lawlessness had ended that Emily changed tack.

The morning of the first day of the month of earth, she dressed with determination, shooting the occasional glare through the ceiling, as though she might reach the god himself. Had he enjoyed seeing her tortured by her own chastity? Falling asleep in tears, fingers clutching the bed frame to stop hands that longed to be so _restless_?

By lunch, she’d rectified the situation.

“Outsider’s crooked cock, that was good.”

Emily smirked up at the ceiling at Wyman’s words, pointing her toes and shifting her hips, altogether preening at the praise. She writhed a bit more, making a show of it, groaning her agreement with a spiteful challenge in her eyes. Rolling onto her side, she traced a finger over her lover’s chest, pressing her mouth to their shoulder as she spiraled inward, her touch closing in on its target-

Wyman laughed, pushing her hand away gently. “Fuck, Emily - again? Give me a moment’s rest, will you?”

Her eyes lit with a hungry mischief and she lunged, pinning the Morley noble to the bed as she straddled them, nipping playfully at a pale collarbone. “By the Outsider,” she smirked, voice a parody of shock, “one might even say I’m _insatiable_.”

“One might,” they murmured in agreement, a single blond brow raising in amusement. A hand cupped Emily’s cheek, and her lover’s gaze was bemused. “What’s gotten into you today? I’ve barely seen you since the Evelyn party and now...”

Teeth flashed as Emily grinned. “I missed you over the fugue feast,” she admitted, punctuating the statement with a kiss - quick and casual at first, but soon melting into something that promised far more.

Again, she was gently pushed back. “We’re not exclusive, you could’ve taken anyone for the feast -- you seemed quite fond of Rosalind-”

Em pouted, sitting back on her thighs, lips twitching slightly at the sharp intake of breath as she began a slow, subtle gyration. “You mean the witch who sold me to the Rosewater Hag?” She watched her lover’s face grow distant, a flush blooming in their cheeks, and hummed in a mockery of contemplation. “Hmm… she’s alright, I suppose.”

Wyman’s breath slowed, and they shot a suspicious look at Emily. “...You’re doing it again.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Her grin was wicked as her movements grew firmer, grinding against them.

“Oh really.” The words - and the accompanying smile - were wry.

She paused, and held up a hand as her heart skipped a beat. “May the Outsider pull me into the Void right this instant if I lie.” She waited, expectantly.

When she made no movement, Wyman let out a small huff of amusement. “You’re a pathological liar, is what you are,” they murmured, a hand running up and down her side. “How you escaped the Hag is a miracle.”

Emily shifted her hips again. “I guess the Outsider is looking after me.”

Blond brows furrowed. “Can you - can you stop bringing him up? It’s kinda weird.”

She stopped moving, a drop of mortification freezing her in her tracks as a blush turned her bare chest pink. Pulling away, she settled back on her side of the bed, turning her back and crossing arms over her breasts, suddenly self-conscious as she glared at the sheets. “Way to kill the fucking mood,” she mumbled.

“...Em…” The mattress creaked as weight shifted, and a soft hand rested on her shoulder.

She shrugged it off. “No, you were right, we’ve done enough for the day,” her voice was bitter.

Their hand hovered, as though they might try again, but with a sigh they pulled away.

Emily stared at the ground, angrily, as noises of cloth on skin came from the other side of the bed.

Clothed legs appeared before her. A patient hand lifted her chin, and lips pressed gently to her forehead.

“You know where to find me.”

A moment’s hesitation, then they ducked down for a quick kiss. “And don’t worry: your Outsider quota resets at midnight.”

She had to smile wryly at that, and when she pushed them away this time, it was playful. They were forgiven. “Get out of here, consort.”

Wyman made a deep flourishing bow. “As you command, Your Imperial Majesty.”

 

* * *

 

Once her _wanton flesh_ had been satisfied, the other strictures were far easier to follow. Well… except for her errant mind. But that wasn’t so bad, was it? Not compared to the rest.

Restless hands lay still, tamed, fingers woven together as she lay on her bed that night, a small complacent smile on her lips. She’d already decided it: if he was watching her, she wouldn’t be doing any private performances. If he saw, he saw her with other people. His name and their names the only words on her lips.

He wouldn’t scare her, wouldn’t shame her for her desires. He’d taunted her in the Void. It was her turn to taunt.

It started gradually enough. Wyman was her consort of choice, even turning her minor obsession with profanity into a new way they might tease her, though not fully understanding the meaning behind it all. A new delegation from Serkonos gave her a gorgeous Karnacan conquest: a tryst in the garden, Emily’s expert touch eliciting the same whimpers and moans from the girl that had been dragged from her own throat in that place where the stone screamed.

The new season’s parties weren’t quite as exciting at those in the month of songs, but she made the best of it. As she’d promised herself, Hettie Ashmore had been shunned. Met with polite smiles and batted eyelashes, but still shunned. Her circle had shifted a bit, adjusting for the guest list of each party, but she’d become quite generous with those she favored. With a single soft stolen kiss from the charmingly shy Katya, she’d drawn Katya’s favored suitor into her net as well, snaring him with a heated glance over the girl’s shoulder as their lips had met.

If the god called her insatiable, she would be.

...If he saw any of it, he never responded.

A month went by, her hedonistic behaviors ebbed and flowed. Soon, she settled back into her old habits, though her restless hands had remained still. Instead, she began a new nightly activity.

“... _which quickly become the workmates of the Outsider. Unfettered by honest labor, they rush to sordid gain, vain pursuits, and deeds of violence._ ” She murmured the words with an almost smug smile, a finger tracing little circles on the opposite page as she read aloud. “ _Of what value are the hands that steal and kill and destroy? Instead, put your hands to the plow, the fork, and the spade. For even the lowliest labor that is rigorous squeezes the muscles as a sponge, rinsing impurities from the mind and body._ "

Every other night, she read them all. She barely skimmed the words after a month. After two, she had them by rote.

For all her knowledge of the strictures, she didn’t do particularly well adhering to them. The nights she didn’t spend reading were spent sneaking out to roam the rooftops. She was reckless, living for the rush of adrenaline the run gave her, taking care to conceal her identity but then doing things like stealing grapes from the guard barracks.

One particularly risky leap had her hobbling back to Dunwall Tower with a twisted ankle. It took her out of commission for nearly two weeks, though with the height of the fall… it really should’ve been broken. It had been odd… one moment she’d been scrambling for purchase on a third floor balcony, losing her grip- and then had only seemed to drop a few feet to the alley below. Corvo had been furious, refusing to let her take any elixir to speed the healing, seeming to know beyond a fraction of a doubt exactly how she’d been injured, though she didn’t know how he possibly could. After all: she was an expert at sneaking out.

And then she was 19.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The best thing she could say about the gala thrown for her 19th birthday was that it was held on her home territory. Which meant escaping stuffy foreign dignitaries and elderly advisors was all too easy. It helped that she’d finally - after weeks of badgering - convinced Corvo and the Master of Ceremonies to let it be a masked ball. Only after they’d verified that every guard knew exactly what she’d be wearing, so they might pick her out of the crowd even with a mask on, was the request approved.

She’d had a lovely dress made - sapphire blue - and a mask that was pebbled with gemstones.

And then, naturally, she’d put together her second costume.

Midway through the evening, after picking out which of her noble circle would be invited to join her for a small salon, she excused herself to her private lavatory and shed the gorgeous-but-all-too-memorable gown in favor of her new disguise.

Plain, simple, elegant; all cream-colored. A dress and skirted overcoat. The mask was unembellished, and she almost felt sorry as she removed the adornment from her hair and swept it up into a far simpler twist, a single clip of pearls replacing the lovely series of gold stars that had been crafted just for her. From the glamour of the night sky she turned to a moth. Still beautiful, if you chose to look, but she doubted anyone would. With a touch of guilt she peeked around the door, verifying that the entrance to her chambers was still closed, and stepped lightly into her bedroom, a twist of her ring opening the royal safe room. The dress was stashed, and--

She hesitated, part of her insisting it was a _terrible_ idea, and another part wickedly assured that _this_ was the solution to ensure an interesting evening.

She gave it another moment’s thought.

“...Why not.” Pulling together a few other things to bring with her - white leaf tobacco might make a nice addition - she tucked it all in a pillowcase and returned to her bedroom.

The climb wasn’t too bad -- choosing a shorter dress with stockings instead of a long gown made it much easier to edge along window ledges and drop onto lower sections of the tower. In a few more minutes, she was sliding in through the window of one of the side rooms on the lower floor, well away from the main party. She shot an impish grin at her fellow conspirators as she pulled off her mask and was greeted by some joking cheers. “Yes, yes - I come bearing gifts.” She reached into the pillowcase and tossed the tin to one of her compatriots.

As the tobacco was prepared, Wyman approached, offering a kiss on the cheek and a murmured, “You’re practically bare-legged, Your Majesty, what a scandal.”

She kissed them back. “I _am_ bare-legged, if you go high enough.” The words came out in a purr, and dark eyelashes batted in a mockery of innocence.

Settling onto a chaise, legs draped over Wyman’s lap, Emily accepted a glass from one of her newer additions to their little group as she handed over another gift from the case -- a sealed bottle of Tyvian red. Lord Jon Langley, now sitting on the floor beside the chaise, was far more entertaining than Hettie ever was, and he proved his worth almost immediately.

“I propose a game.”

“Oh fuck off, not another.” Wyman snorted, already tipsy, and Emily downed her drink quick in an attempt to catch up. “Is this about your perverse need to slobber all over Adiz?”

The Serkonan shot Wyman a pointed look, but his wry grimace didn’t seem too angry, even as Langley went a bit pink.

“Restrict the wanton flesh, Jon,” Emily chastised with a smirk, then held out her glass for him to fill again.

As golden liquid spilled into the cup, Langley looked briefly sheepish, though he still grinned. “From what I hear, Empress, you seem to enjoy making that a challenge for others.”

Instead of pulling the glass to her, she leaned down so she might be closer to the young nobleman. “Call it a public service. All must learn to resist temptation. ‘Within these things, the Outsider dwells,’ and all that.” She brought the glass to her lips once more as she leaned back again.

Wyman laughed at that, squeezing one of her ankles briefly. “I swear by the Outsider, Em -- you could make an overseer forget his vows.”

She ran a tongue over the tips of her teeth, shooting a heated look at her consort.

“Are you proposing a wager?”

Everyone turned to look at Katya. She never suggested such things. There was silence for a second, and Emily tried to read the girl’s expression. Hurt, maybe, underneath the wary confidence. What, for bedding her little lordling friend? Or for kissing _her_ in order to do it?

“What do you say, Your Majesty?” That was Jon, a spark in his eye. “I believe I saw an overseer on watch down the hall with the novice trim. Think you can sway him from the righteous path?”

Emily ran a hand through her hair, pulling it free of its twist, and stood. “And what do I win when I succeed?” She straightened her dress, gradually undoing button after button of her overcoat until she slipped it from now bare shoulders, and smoothed the fabric that wrapped around her upper arms to make sure it lay flat.

“Pride?” Wyman suggested, smirking.

There was a snort. “You seduce an overseer? If you- No, if you come back here _wearing his mask_ I will _willingly_ be your slave for the next _ten years_.” There was no hiding the contempt in Katya’s voice - something so completely unexpected that once more everyone stared.

Emily put on a soft smile, taking slow steps to the ambassador’s daughter. “I don’t traffic in slaves, Katya.” Her voice was quiet, a single finger lifting the girl’s chin. As Katya blushed and glared, she added, in a voice like dark silk, “But if you’ll join me and your little suitor for a night? That’s a bet I’ll take.”

Watching those sweet brown eyes go wide for a fraction of a second, Emily smirked.

“I-” Katya pulled away, her face gone scarlet. “Fine!” she snapped. “It’s not like you’ll succeed.”

Emily was already at the door. “Have a little faith, Kat.”

The drink - brandy? - had her warm all over as she shot a wicked glance behind her, pulling on her plain white mask, before she exited the room. With a smug smile she made her way to the end of the hall, already seeing the novice in question. To take a mask? It was easier than having to sleep with the man, just a matter of charming him enough to take it off.

She was only a few yards away when she felt it. A pinch. Then a wobble. Her smile faltered. _Oh._ Another step, another wobble. _Oh no_. The warm tingling that had felt so pleasant just a moment before-

Her knees gave out, a jolt of pain shot up her arms as she smacked palms against the ground, and she tried to think over the swimming in her head.

“Hm. Seems it was stronger than I thought.”

Emily blinked at the floor, watching the tiles shift in and out of focus.

“Honestly, I just wanted to loosen her tongue… Ah well. I think we have all the evidence we’ll need.”

Her arms trembled and she collapsed, her lips going numb. She managed to roll over onto her back, and whatever had stuck in her skin fell to the floor, it’s job complete. The novice had turned before she’d even reached him, and approached now, but she looked to where she heard the more confident footsteps, where the voice was coming from.

“B...” She couldn’t make her mouth form words, but she tried to glare at him.

He leaned over her, feeling for a pulse. “Yes, that should just about do it. If you could, please, Overseer Ashmore.”

Her blood ran cold as arms looped under hers, hoisting her up, her body limp, but she didn’t take her searing gaze from that backstabbing son of a bitch tucking what looked like a series of audiographs into his jacket.

“I apologize, Your Imperial Majesty,” his tone was far too casual for a man committing treason, as he directed the overseer carrying her to a nearby office, “But it simply isn’t right, having a heretic on the throne.”

Her vision blurred as she was placed on the couch, great care taken to preserve her modesty. _You Voiddamned motherfucking son of a bitch._

“You’ll be given a fair trial, of course -- can’t go setting a bad example. And then I imagine the Gristol parliament would be happy to take over your duties for you.”

 _Gristol--_ Of course. And the noble families would suddenly be running the whole Empire.

“I may even convince my father to represent you, if you’d like. He’s good at it. All the Langleys make good barristers.” He mused, lifting one of her eyelids with one hand and checking his watch with the other. “Or - no, I suppose you wouldn’t like that, would you?” His chuckling faded in and out as she tried to hold on to consciousness, eyelids falling shut as she tried and failed to move her lips. “That’s it-” His condescending pat on the cheek enraged her. “Off to sleep now. Good girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm a trash person who likes trash plots and also thinks way too hard about clothes, cause I want everyone to know Emily's dress is a sleeveless off-the-shoulder tea length dress that is so incredibly not accurate to real-life 1850s. But _y'know what_. This fic is entirely self-indulgent, and if I want to dress her in lovely cream satins then I will. (Literally if you google that description, I'm pretty sure the dress I'm thinking of comes up in the first five results. Except Emily's in cream.)
> 
> Yes. Yes, I'm aware this is the same sort of fanfic shit I did in elementary school. But shhhh I like pretty dresses.


	3. Chapter 3

“Empress Emily Kaldwin.”

She couldn’t open her eyes.

“...Emily, Emily, Emily... What have you gotten yourself into?”

The tiniest groan worked free from her throat, but her limbs were lead.

“Ah, yes: the drug.”

She tried to focus on what she _could_ do, paralyzed as she was. Her fingers twitched. She was on something hard, so not the couch in the office. Her mouth tasted of sour fruit. But the sound — it was the sound that calmed her, for all its dissonance. She knew that sound. It haunted her in dreams that - at some point in the last few months - had stopped being nightmares.

“It’ll pass.”

The voice was calm, oddly reassuring despite the harsh amusement in it. She knew that voice, too.

“The boy was a bit heavy-handed, but - as per usual, it seems-“ Her head spun as the voice shifted direction, suddenly closer, on her other side. “-I’ve managed to save the day.”

The words were followed by a wry huff of laughter, a noise that immediately made goosebumps break out on her skin.

“After all—“ Again, closer, a hum in her ear. “I couldn’t let them take my empress, could I?”

Damn it. Her body throbbed, every energetic impulse forced still by whatever toxin the treasonous sons of bitches had stuck her with. The anger at the thought of Langley’s smug fucking face raged in her, burning at whatever still remained in her system, and she winced as feeling returned to her skin, the pins and needles of a body too stiff to move.

“But perhaps you’d like to _thank_ them.”

His voice was farther away again, and Emily forced her eyes open gradually, unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth. It was coming easier now, the paralysis melting away only to be replaced by stiff joints and sluggish muscles.

“...You’ve been trying to come back for some time now…”

She rolled her head until she spotted him, her pupils slow to adjust to the strange light of the Void. He was examining something he held in his hands, looking thoroughly amused, but as though he sensed her gaze, he looked straight at her - straight _into_ her - as he whispered. “Haven’t you, Your Majesty?”

She shifted flat onto her back, flexing her fingers and toes as she regained control of them, and his voice grew closer.

“Doing everything in your power to get my attention…”

He drew nearer, crouching beside her, and tossed the thing he’d been holding - the mask she’d worn - carelessly to the ground. She blinked her vision to full clarity, gradually feeling herself come back to normal, and for a moment wondered why his smirk suddenly twisted, until she realized she’d been licking her lips. She quickly stopped, watching him warily.

“Tell me, Emily-” He made no move to assist as she pulled herself up on her elbows, but once she was there, a cool hand cupped her cheek, running his thumb over those same lips. His voice was low, filled with smoke and stone. “How does it taste? When you call out my name…”

Her mouth watered, whole body flooding with heat. She was drawn to him, magnetized, but she’d barely shifted a millimeter toward him when he disappeared again.

Good. She closed her eyes for a moment, regaining some self control. Good -- distance was good. She was supposed to be driving _him_ mad, not the other way around.

If she realized her hubris, she refused to acknowledge it.

Stretching and flexing she got all of her muscles working again, trying to ignore his presence as he watched her from several feet away. She brushed at the cream satin of her skirt, though there was nothing to wipe away -- for as dark and inky as the Void - as his gaze - was, it left not a single mark on skin or clothes. Counting her breaths, Emily tried to train her face into a mask of cool indifference, flippant disinterest. When she turned to face him, she raised her chin as if in challenge.

In an instant he was close again, and Emily felt the fire well up in her. “You’re not fooling anyone, Empress.”

A single finely-arched eyebrow raised, even as her jaw tightened.

“I’ll admit, it contrasts beautifully in the Void-” Graceful fingers slid over the fabric that wrapped around her, careful not to touch skin that now felt charged and ready to spark. “But it’s all an act, isn’t it?” He began a slow pacing circle, trailing his touch over the folds of her dress’s neckline as he moved. “Wearing white.” His words slid over her like liquid, running down her back, and his accusation was whispered, weighted with knowledge. “... _Reading strictures_.”

She ignored the pleasant shivers up and down her spine at that. “You don’t like me reading strictures?” Her words were half innocent. She hoped it made him furious.

He laughed - actually _laughed_ \- “Oh, on the contrary -- I adore it.” The wolfish gleam of his grin was unmistakable, and just as suddenly he’d vanished and his lips were at her ear, making her jump. “How many times have you recited the strictures just to keep from breaking them?”

She licked her lips, trying to maintain composure. “You ridicule my piety?” she murmured, trying to make her motion casual and demure as she interlocked her fingers before her, thumbs tapping against each other as she bowed her head slightly. “I’ll have you know the Empress of the Isles works hand-in-hand with the Abbey to maintain the moral fiber of the Empire.”

He was gone again, once more yards away, his own hands clasped behind his back as he moved. He didn’t even acknowledge her words. “I have to confess, that first night was my favorite.”

She watched through lowered lashes as he paced steadily, a smug smirk on his lips.

“You were so _good_ that first week - I almost thought you’d heed my warning. Trying _so hard_ not to call on me, even by accident. But then that night…” A small chuckle. “You suffer beautifully, I’ll give you that.” He caught her gaze, making her stomach lurch. “Seeing you writhe was the highlight of this year’s fugue feast.”

Emily had sworn she would best him, that she wouldn’t fall so easily. She’d give as good as she got; _she’d_ bring the scorn, the cold disdain, the taunting and teasing - and this time _he’d_ be the one left wanting. But still she felt the flush creeping up her neck, and before she could stop herself she had looked away.

“One week of my name banished from your lips, and the first time you spoke it -- so angry, so _vicious_ -” There was something… almost admiration in his tone. His hand was suddenly on her face, sending a current straight through her skin, and she glanced up only to be caught in the terrible endless abyss of his eyes.

Her hands hesitated only a fraction of a second before she unclasped them, wanting to touch him - reaching for him - her fingers brushing his coat for just a moment before he was gone again, a few feet away.

“I think you misunderstand, empress. You think you’ve abstained, but your restless hands reach for me-- reach for all manner of partners, it seems.” Again that cruel smirk. “You may know the words, but have you ever _listened_ to your precious strictures?”

She was confused. Was this some kind of trick? Emily shook her head very slightly, though not in answer to his question. Well, this - this purposeful confusion - just wouldn’t do. She tried to snap herself out of whatever spell he surely must have her under, taking two quick steps toward him--

“ _Roving feet, Your Majesty,_ ” he called over his shoulder, even as she was stopped dead in her tracks, feet refusing to move. “Restrict them. Please.” His voice was so calm, so pleasant, voicing the order as a request despite that fact that she’d had no choice. “We’re in the midst of a lesson.”

She looked down at feet that she _could not_ lift from the stone, agitated. “What did you-”

As his eyes snapped to hers, her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, cutting off her speech, and in a split second he was before her again, finger over her lips. She was _thoroughly_ irritated. Hands clenched into fists, drawing back as she drew herself up, almost as if to fight -- and froze there, as if restrained. Eyes went wide for a moment, affronted. Gradually they narrowed, unable to voice her annoyance with the god, irked rise and fall of her chest and subdued shifting of her hips all she could manage.

He pointed to each in turn, speaking slowly, leisurely: “No roving feet. No restless hands.” His fingertip tapped against her lower lip, his own mouth curving in amusement. “No. Lying. Tongue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the cliffhanger, but this chapter was just getting too long. Enjoy the suffering! It suits you.
> 
> Also, shhhh I know the plot has been kind of forgotten, believe me she'll remember later. I have Plans for that.


	4. Chapter 4

He knew _exactly_ what he was doing, didn’t he? Emily tried to glare at him, tried to accuse him with her sharp look, even as he traced his touch over the bow of her lips, hand moving to gently turn her face - and of course _he_ could do it, even though _she_ couldn’t - leaning in, his gaze on her mouth as he brought his own lips so-- so very close-

Her pulse fluttered in her throat. Even knowing he was toying with her, her irritation was forgotten for a moment as she felt his breath breaking on her skin. Her head swam, every impulse in her jumping to close the miniscule distance between them, and whatever hold the god was keeping on her was the only thing that stopped her from acting on those impulses.

“Self-control, empress.” She felt the hum of his words like a shadow in the air. “Is that not the backbone of the Abbey’s dogma?” He smirked, moving away from her lips to place a mocking kiss on her cheek, breath stirring her hair as he murmured, “Hands to yourself, if you please.”

With a small tingle, her mouth was mobile again. She very nearly rolled her eyes. “So that’s how it is, then? _You_ can touch _me_ all you like, and I’m not allowed to touch anyone?”

As he pulled back, taking a small step away, she felt autonomy return to her, starting at the top and trickling down. She was tempted to lunge at him, pin him down -- but the way his lips quirked, she knew it would be a mistake. Instead, she folded arms over her chest with a stubborn raise of her chin.

“Anyone?” Black eyes glinted as he cocked his head. There was a long pause, her eyebrows lifted in challenge, before he spoke again. “...Would you be so kind as to recite for me the third stricture, Your Majesty? You do it so well.”

This time she _did_ roll her eyes, shooting him a suspicious look. “What exactly-”

“If you would.” With an excessively polite nod of his head, he added, “Please.”

With a small sigh, she dropped her hands to clasp them before her as she recited from memory, voice flippant. _“Restrict the Restless Hands, which quickly become the workmates of the Outsider,”_ she smirked right back at him. _“Unfettered by honest labor, they rush to sordid gain, vain pursuits, and deeds of violence.”_ She knew the words by heart, but didn’t expect the Outsider himself to chime in.

“Most scholars agree the purpose of the text is to discourage activities disruptive to the community.” His hands clasped behind his back once more, he started _again_ with the pacing. “And that was certainly the intention when written.” She didn’t stay still this time, never leaving her back to him as they unintentionally circled each other. Noticing her movements, he shot her an amused look, but went on. “‘The Outsider’ is a representation of the stranger - the _other_ \- the antithesis of community laws, morals, and mores. Encourage society’s norms by instilling fear of the transgressive. Reinforce rules for safety and responsible behaviors.”

She watched him with fascination that mellowed her annoyance at his lecturing tone. _“Of what value are the hands that steal and kill and destroy?”_

“The stricture is outwardly focused-- do no harm to your fellows, do no deed that will cause upheaval or disturb the smooth functioning of society. You read correctly - though you do not obey - the slight undertones hinting at adultery and the resulting strife that may occur in a community. There certainly can be a… carnal interpretation.” Again lips twitched, as though he might laugh. “But with that in mind--” He stopped his movement, and she followed suit. When he spoke again his voice was lower, darker. “My dear empress, your actions have been diametrically opposed to this stricture for months now. Your _‘restless hands’_ have touched _only_ others.”

It was as though she could sense what was coming, and her skin itched with anticipation. Amber eyes darkened as she watched him, her breathing growing heavy. Slowly, she opened her mouth to continue the stricture as he broke into shatters of Void. _“Instead-”_

 _Yes_ \-- Her eyes closed as his hands appeared over hers, once more - as he’d done months ago, guiding her actions - and her voice caught in her throat. She held her breath, his touch - his closeness -- she could _feel_ him against bare shoulders - igniting something in her that was surely going to be her downfall. It was as though she’d immediately returned to how she’d felt that night, a week of chastity becoming such torture.

“‘Instead…’” He continued for her, his lips on her ear as he drew her hands to her own body, running them languidly over satin.

Every touch tightened her skin, and she let out a soft pant, biting her lip as fingers slid down over a hip, up over her abdomen-- Desire flared in her, eating at her, making her hunger. Toes curled and she ached for him.

“I can’t hear you, Emily.” His murmur against her skin was mischievous as their joined hands brushed a breast. “How do I know you’ve learned your precious strictures if I can’t hear you?”

“ _I-Instead, put your-_ ” She took in a sharp breath as digits teased at her nipple, and in an act of defiance she curled her fingers around his, pressing them harder against her. If he was going to torture her, she at least wanted his hands to be the ones doing it.

He let her pause for a moment, hand still teasing, then spoke, grinning even as he warned, “Emily.”

Breathlessly, she hurried to continue. “ _Put your hands to the plow, the fork-_ ” She blushed furiously at the moan that left her lips as he pressed her other hand between her legs even as the first crested her neckline. She could feel his skin against her bare chest, pressed firmly by her grasping fingers, as their hands slipped beneath the fabric. A tight whine escaped her and she shifted in another small act of rebellion, now adjusting her stance, hooking one ankle around his as though she might hold him there.

His pressure between her legs was too soft, too light - she curled her fingers over those too, and pushed harder, just as, inside her bodice, questing fingers found their target.

Emily cried out, arching her back, pressing against him, desperate for more.

He didn’t scold her for the way she subtly pushed against his rules, but after a moment he did speak, his own voice both patient and determined. “‘The plow, the fork, and the spade’ -- go on.”

Energy surged in her, voracious, needing _more_. She couldn’t keep still, shaking her head as her mouth snapped shut, a small pleading hum buzzing her lips. The ankle hooked around him tightened as she felt his own grip tightening as well as she rolled her hips against him. The word was all air and hunger: “ _Please_ -”

The god’s voice was smoke twining around her, underlaid with a harsh ring of stone. “ _Go on_ , empress.”

Emily’s thoughts were incoherent. She just _wanted_. Hips bucked and her legs were weak and she felt him adjusting his own stance, holding her there.

Hands stilled, forcing hers to still as well, and his voice was quiet. Strained. “How quickly you forget your pious words, Your Majesty.” Fingers were drawn away even as his palm pressed against the back of her hand.  “Surely the Outsider hasn’t swayed you from your righteous path?”

She didn’t want him to stop touching her. Or- she didn’t want to stop touching herself? She wriggled against him.

“Well... How weak your resolve, empress.”

As he began to shift, as though he might let go, the words spilled from her in a desperate torrent. “ _-the fork and the spade for even the lowliest labor-”_ He stopped his retreat, putting hands on her again, and she didn’t wait for him to guide her. _“-that is rigorous-- squeezes the muscles-”_ She was the one holding him there now, her fingers wrapped so hard with his that her knuckles hurt.

Her voice was aggressive for all its breathlessness as she grinded her body against his, against their hands. “- _as a sponge-_ ” The words caught in her throat for a moment as his thumb stroked against hers, and she could’ve sworn she heard a chuckle in her ear as her recitation faltered, but she charged on. _“-rinsing impurities-”_ she panted, knowing she couldn’t get all she wanted without _more_ stimulation, but wanting - _needing_ \- to keep going, to try for some kind of relief.

Images flashed on the insides of her eyelids, she tried to angle herself - do all she could - for _something_ \- oh, Void, _something_ \- _“-from the-”_ A choked moan issued from her lips, and she tried to stall, to give herself more time, almost-- “Don’t-”

The god was threatening to pull away again and she dug nails into his skin to stop him. She wanted this so badly, she so nearly-

“Please, don’t-” She whimpered as he let her pull his hands against her again. “Right-” Her relief was overshadowed by a desperate need, “-yes-”

His voice was even but hoarse, breath unusually hot on her neck. “‘Rinsing impurities…’”

 _“From the mind-”_ Emily found herself alternatively holding her breath and gasping. _“-The mind and-”_ If he weren’t holding her, there was no way she would’ve still been on her feet. Her whole body shivered and writhed. “Ah- _god of the Void_ -” she swore, the words slipping from her lips in a curse before she could even think of what she was saying.

His hands tightened over hers, and she thought he might be surprised, before she felt his huff of laughter weak against her skin as he pressed his face to the crook of her neck. Lips trailed up until they brushed against her ear. “That is- incorrect, empress.”

She could’ve sworn he faltered, a soft hitch in his breath for a moment.

“Do we need to stop so you might study?”

He must’ve used some kind of witchcraft because there was no way he could’ve stopped her hands otherwise. She dropped her chin to her chest, shaking her head with a pained groan. _Why?_ Why did he stop her - why did he tease her like this? Holding her breath for a moment, even as her body wailed for more, she let the air out in a gritted whisper. “Fffffffffuck you.”

The Outsider made no response, but he didn’t need to. She knew what he didn’t say.

_You want to._

And she knew he’d be right, too.

“Now-” The hand in her bodice moved - pinched hard - and she sucked in a quick breath. “-Would you rather start this all over again from the beginning?”

Her moan was nearly pleading as hands caressed her once more. No - harder. The pressure was focused, and quickly her face heated again as she swallowed any other words she might speak. There was only a moment of hesitation before she shook her head, the movement becoming suddenly erratic as- right there, yes _right there_ -

“...Finish it, Emily.”

Toes curled and muscles seized and she held herself at that point where everything was tense and tight and every sensation--

Her voice was thin, choking on her own concentrated effort. “ _Rinsing impurities from- from the mind and-_ ” Whatever it was that shot through her, making every nerve spark and riot inside her, she knew it was his fault. She thought she could hear stars and taste the Void itself as his fingers slipped between hers, crashing into her with something otherworldly and primal, and her head _ached_ with the pressure of trying to maintain composure, biting her lip hard until she finally managed a strained: “- _and body--_ Fuck!” She shrieked, thrashing as something more than just her own pleasure stormed through her.

Emily thought it might tear her apart, the feeling was so intense. Every part of her buzzed in her skin and if it weren’t for his hold on her she thought she might have burst into thousands of tiny shards herself. He’d adopted that iron grip, one with the stone they stood on and unmoving, for all she bucked against him. She thought she might slow, might come down, come back to her senses-

She felt his smirk as he shook his head slightly and nipped at her ear, drawing a fevered whimper. “Oh, empress…” His voice slipped from a mocking hiss to something deep in his throat, his words a promise. “...We’re not done here.”

He didn’t let her stop.

It seemed to go on and on and whatever it was he’d leaked into her bloodstream it was sheer intoxication, her pupils blown out until only a thin line of golden brown remained. Torture. Exquisite torture, fueled by the Void itself. She struggled against his hold but didn’t want him to let go. Whatever this was, it was new and different and absolutely _euphoric_ and she luxuriated in it even as it destroyed her. It made her something else - carnal, corrupted - rampaging through her with abandon. She cursed and writhed and screamed and begged-- _stop, don’t stop, more, please, no, yes_ \-- the words became sobs as she broke in his arms.

Finally - _finally_ \- he let up. Was this what witches felt? It was said that witches’ powers were gained from laying with the Outsider. If that were true, this would only be a fraction of what magic felt like. The fleeting thought occurred to her even as she felt his fingers unweave from hers, leaving her own hands where they were as he adjusted his hold to keep her on her feet -- because her legs were absolute jelly, and if he stepped even an inch away she would collapse.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, panting, and she thought there might be tears on her face. Limbs trembled, spent, and one hand fell limply to her side as the other moved weakly, blindly, until she could put her fingers over his. If he had told her no, to keep her hands to herself, if he’d magicked her to stop, she might have died. But he didn’t. He let her hold his hand with shaking fingers, his own breathing calm as she drew ragged breaths.

She felt drained. Empty. Like whatever magic had torn through her had ripped her apart and spilled every drop of her onto the stone. Eyelids struggled to lift as her body forced all it could from her last bit of energy. Her head was slowly beginning to pound painfully. She tried so hard to stay present, to regain coherence, but she was utterly exhausted. Even his thumb stroking along her hand only fizzled, the sparks muffled by weariness.

“The Void isn’t going anywhere, Your Majesty,” His words were murmured at her temple, still with that touch of amusement, but with something else. Not quite pity, but… something soft mixed it with his obvious self-satisfaction. “ _You’re_ not going anywhere. You may as well sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole fic is self-indulgent trash. I didn't even have some of these kinks until the story just kinda pulled me along for the ride. Emsider doesn't get enough kink content, so enjoy. XD


	5. Chapter 5

There were no dreams. Perhaps the Void stopped them, perhaps they were irrelevant there. Emily woke well-rested, if a bit disoriented. The weirdest part was, she was in her own bed. Or, at least, it looked like her bed. Some semblance of it, recreated in the Void. It was… odd. She wouldn’t be complaining, though; it was far better than sleeping on stone.

She stared up into the abyss, trying to get her thoughts in order. 

What had she been thinking? Letting herself be drawn in by the Outsider, distracted from her purpose. He was just so damn _entrancing_. Already she felt an emptiness inside her where magic had been, and her body tasted it like a drug, something thrilling and addictive that she knew would be hard to satisfy. A drug…

She grit her teeth. _Langley_. Langley and Ashmore and their treasonous scheme -- what’s worse, they were even more right _now_ than they’d been before. Her behavior had been rash. Now that she was at least somewhat free of her lust she winced at how reckless she’d been. When part of her mused that perhaps it was worth it, she quickly pushed the thought down. No. It most certainly wasn’t. Her crown - her Empire - was in jeopardy, all because she’d wanted some attention. _Stupid_.

But if she was here… What was going on in- what should she call it, the real world? Were their plans moving forward as she slept? But-- she was here. How could she sleep within sleep?

The question alone was mind boggling, but staring into the Void only made it worse. Endless black that was still somehow lit, she didn’t know how, didn’t know why -- from here it could almost be that she was falling...

When the vertigo kicked in, she quickly shifted to her side, finding the sight of black stone comforting. Grounding.

Less comforting was the man sitting not too far away, black eyes trained on her.

“Have you been staring this whole time?” She didn’t try to hide her irritation.

Lips twitched into a smirk, and her stomach lurched remembering how they’d felt on her skin. “You know this, empress: I’m _always_ watching.”

Shoving aside any thoughts of skin and touching - and the trickle of shame than came with them - she opened her mouth to say something, then shut it just as quickly. Her lips pursed as she censored herself. He already knew how unsettling his words were. No doubt they’d been chosen for that effect. If his goal was to make her paranoid, he’d succeeded long ago.

She sat up in bed, distantly noting how he’d taken the time to actually put her _in_ bed and not just on top of it. But no time to focus on those things. She forced her mind to the subject at hand. “How long have I been out? 

He shrugged. “A minute, an hour, a month: time works differently here.”

What a complete non-answer. She turned an accusatory finger on him. “If you’re saying I’ve been asleep a month, I will wring your neck.”

In an instant he’d gone from fifteen feet away to directly before her, taking the wrist of the pointed hand, pushing it out of position. “What did I tell you about threats, Your Majesty?” Even as he warned her, his thumb caressed her skin. Her gaze darted to the contact for a moment before looking at him again, and he seemed somehow more smug than before. Prick.

She snatched her hand from his grip, scowling at the blush that seemed to color her skin every time they touched, but made no apology. He seemed in good enough spirits to forgive. “How long.”

He paused, head cocking to the side slightly as though something had suddenly occurred to him. His words gave away nothing. “We are in a place out of time. If you wish, I can hold you here until your body would’ve woken from the drug - but I have a feeling that’s not what you’d like, is it?”

Her stomach was in her throat as he took her wrist again, this time pulling her to her feet. Even as she felt the pleasant itch of attraction on her skin, Emily’s mind was agitated for a completely different reason.

“I may not be able to read minds, empress, but I don’t think I need to. I know _exactly_ what you’re thinking. What you want.”

Amber eyes narrowed. She couldn’t go through this again, not so soon - not when her empire was in danger.

He let out a short, subtle laugh. “No, not that-- that’s always on your mind, isn’t it?” He was thoroughly amused, feeling her pulse jump as his thumb grazed her wrist again. The god’s bottomless gaze was hard to interpret, but the rest of his expression implied curiosity.

A creaking, scraping noise came from behind her, but she couldn’t break eye contact, trying to read something in the reflection off of inky black eyes. Her anger was forced aside as he took her other wrist as well, and she shifted her feet as she quashed the impulse to pounce, to wrap herself around him and steal his kiss.

He turned his face to her open palms, running cool fingers over them, shifting, adjusting, weaving his fingers through hers before-

She sucked in a quick breath as he slammed her up against rock that most certainly hadn’t been behind her before, wrists pinned. A war raged inside her, two desires clashing against one another as he distracted her, his lips skimming from her ear to her cheek to her jaw to her neck-

The air around him hummed, and she breathed it in, sensing the echo of that intoxicating experience. She bit her lip to stop herself from returning his attentions, from trying to taste the Void on his skin. What would it taste like? Stone - wet stone and sea storms, and ice and ozone and blood and smoke. Natural and surreal all at once.

She was almost as angry with herself as she was with Langley. How could she let herself be distracted?

Lips vibrated at the junction of neck and shoulder. “ _Insatiable…_ ”

Her eyes closed, half of her furious and the other half already imagining how his lips could feel elsewhere.

As he pulled away, her eyes snapped open once more to glare. This teasing, as enjoyable as she hated to admit that it was, was just getting in the way. His voice came in an intrigued murmur. “Fascinating.”

She scowled, raising her chin, as if daring him to explain. There was an immediate shift as he took a step closer, pressing his body against hers, and she held her breath, trying to hold on to her resolve even as a hungry anticipation filled her. Her own inner conflict must have been plain enough, as a small smirk appeared on his lips.

“And even after all of that.” He shook his head in amused amazement.  “When you _know_ I’ll make you suffer.” He leaned in toward her again, and she felt her chest tighten, too aware of the loss of breath she’d enforced on herself. Soft lips brushed against her closed mouth for a fraction of a second before he moved them up her cheek, his words slipping into her ear in a low hum. “When you know I _like_ seeing you suffer.”

His grip on her wrists tightened a moment and she felt it again - that rush, that magic that shot through her bloodstream. It hit her full force, as though she’d grabbed on to a electrified rail with both hands. Starved for breath, she sucked in air and thought she could _feel_ it inside her skin, right next to the fire and the ice and the electric charge. She was a conduit of something far greater. The world - the Void - was bright, beautiful, her flesh was light and her veins were shadow, and every inch of her _burned_ but everything felt so _good_ \--

A slightly hysterical touch of involuntary laughter spilled from her lips at the sensation.

“Addictive, isn’t it?”

The euphoria was paired with something else, something that hurt, that cut at her like knives, but that didn’t matter when magic was a part of her, healing every wound as it sliced into her. It reminded her of the thrill of running, leaping, the burn in every inch of muscle as she worked her will on the world.

Emily forced her eyes closed, gritting her teeth as she corralled the oncoming rush, wrestling it out of her head, keeping her mind clear even as her body reveled in it.

“You take to it well.”

She tried to ignore his words - their distant observational tone - as her mind became a tool, focusing on managing the thing that ate away at her in such a delicious way. Funnel the surge, contain it, push it down until it simmered in the pit of her stomach.

“You haven’t been driven mad by the touch of the Void--” He paused, and when she finally opened her eyes, meeting his with wary defiance, he smirked. “Not yet, anyway. We still have time.” His words were teasing, but she couldn’t help but take them as a warning.

Emily had it mostly in hand now, her own hands that had tightened into fists loosening as she imagined letting the magic drain out of her, soak into the stone, back to the Void. Back where it belonged.

“Power comes easily to you, doesn’t it empress?” The Outsider drew away, releasing her wrists and giving her room to breathe, though fingers lifted to cup her cheek. “For all your training, that’s your preferred weapon. But someone is trying to take your power, aren’t they? They’ll steal it away and lock you up, have you hanged for heresy.” He shook his head, too aloof to sound fully mournful. “You’ll be nothing. No one. Just another body tossed in the Wrenhaven.”

Anger flared in her as he reminded her of her attackers’ treason. As she glared, his own eyes lit, a small smile coming to his lips.

“ _That_ \--” A finger that had caressed her cheek now tapped hard on her collarbone, his expression becoming hungrier. “ _That_ feeling, _that_ desire -- _that’s_ what you want now. Lust isn’t on your mind. _Revenge._ ” His grin was sharp, glinting, and all too vicious. “Revenge solves everything, doesn’t it Your Majesty?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since I've been posting some smaller segments, it's looking like this will be a 6-7 part fic in total. I think. Idk, it kinda grows on its own.   
> Psst - feel free to leave a comment if you're up for it. Also, if you're interested, I post previews over on my ko-fi page (onewhoturns there as well).


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